


The Law of Interaction

by rachhell



Series: south park drabble bomb [9]
Category: South Park
Genre: High School, Lab Partners, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Multiple, Pining, South Park Drabble Bomb, just admit it, just kiss already you stupid boys, they're both so stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 07:18:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13806219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachhell/pseuds/rachhell
Summary: Stan Marsh hated Craig Tucker... didn't he?Written for the February 2018 SP Drabble Bomb, day two - pining





	The Law of Interaction

**Author's Note:**

> _To every action there is always opposed an equal reaction; or the mutual actions of two bodies upon each other are always equal, and directed to contrary parts._

Stan Marsh hated Craig Tucker.

He hated his stupid face. He hated his stupid, spindly arms and stupid, big hands and stupid, long neck. He hated his stupid, nasal voice, and his stupid laugh, and his stupid blue-grey eyes, and he especially hated that those stupid, blue-grey eyes would bore into him and make his chest tighten, make his stomach drop like he was about to be punched in the face. He hated how confusing it felt, to have his insides twist and fold against themselves like that. He hated that a feeling so unpleasant also made him red-faced and dizzy and just _weird_ in a way that, really, wasn’t unpleasant at all, when he thought about it.

Not that Stan thought about it.

He hated those black skinny jeans Craig always wore, like he was trying to be _so_ unique, like some goddamn hipster but not even a _cool_ one, like some hipster from, like, 2007. It was like he was wearing those jeans on purpose, to make people stare; it was like he was trying to show off his stupid little ass, and the outline of his stupid, _stupidly_ big dick, like the asshole was flaunting the fact that his dick was bigger than like anyone else in their entire school, like he wanted you to look, and then he’d narrow those dumb stupid beautiful _stupid_ eyes at you when he caught you and _ugh_ Craig was so _stupid._

Not that Stan was looking at his dick, not on purpose, it was just that you really couldn’t avoid it, not when it was _right there._ Because Craig was stupid, and he hated Craig, and he was definitely, _definitely_ not checking out Craig’s package of his own volition. No fucking way.

He hated Mrs. Reynolds for pairing him up with Craig in lab almost as much as he hated Craig himself. He hated how smart Craig was, and how purposefully patient he’d get when Stan got stuck on something incredibly basic like the one of the three goddamn laws of physics, and how he was positive that Mrs. Reynolds paired him with Craig because Stan was an idiot who shouldn’t have even entertained the notion of taking this class. He hated how Craig scooted his chair right up next to his when looking over assignments, and how his skinny-ass leg would bump up against Stan’s own and how sometimes his bony elbow would poke into Stan’s arm and how he’d smile all smug and annoying when that happened, like he knew it made the hair on the back of Stan’s neck stand up.

He hated Craig’s mouth. He hated how Craig never really smiled, but when he did, his teeth were straight and perfect from years of braces, and his smile reached his cloudy eyes and made them light up and widen and look more blue than grey. When he smiled, it was so rare, that Stan knew Craig meant it, and he hated the squirmy feeling he got in the pit of his stomach and how his fingers and toes got all tingly and his mouth got all dry when Craig smiled at him. What was Craig playing at, just _smiling_ at him in that way? It was stupid, and what was even more stupid about Craig’s mouth was that his lips were really nice, and he licked them a lot, and it was super distracting, because who just licks their lips like that? He licked them so often when he was concentrating on an equation or just thinking about who knows what, probably some stupid edgy hipster bullshit, or probably about guys, probably about guys that _weren’t_ Stan, that his lips with their perfect Cupid’s bow were probably chapped and wouldn’t feel good to kiss.

Not that Stan ever thought about kissing Craig Tucker. He never wondered what it would be like to lean over their physics textbook and smash their mouths together. He never wondered if Craig would kiss him back, or if he’d push him away and glare at him with his laser-focus stare. He never wondered if Craig kissed in a way that matched his personality, intense and biting and methodical, or if he would be soft, and slow, and deep; if Craig would bury his stupid giant hands in Stan’s hair and pull him in, close, and kiss him on the neck and run those stupid hands up and down Stan’s spine, underneath his shirt. He never wondered what it would be like to peel Craig out of the confines of his stupid jeans and see if they truly left nothing to the imagination or if what was underneath them would be even better than he’d imagined - not that he’d been imagining it.

He never thought about it, not for one moment, because Stan Marsh hated Craig Tucker.

* * *

Craig Tucker liked Stan Marsh.

He liked him a lot. It was an honest-to-god, head-over-heels crush. It was distracting as fuck. It was annoying as fuck, because it wasn’t like he asked for this. It wasn’t like he woke up one day and decided, oh, you know who would be really great to start randomly lusting after? Stan Marsh, the guy you’ve hated for god even knows how long. Great. Fantastic. Fucking fabulous - Craig liked Stan, and it wasn’t going away, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Not only was Stan not gay, but Stan would never go for it anyway, because Stan hated Craig.

He couldn’t really pinpoint when it started. Maybe it was when Mrs. Reynolds assigned Stan as his partner in physics, like some fucked-up matchmaker. Maybe it was the first time he accidentally brushed his hand against Stan’s when they were working in the lab. Maybe it was the time he purposefully pressed his thigh against Stan’s when they were doing homework and Stan stiffened in his chair but didn’t move away. Maybe it was the first time he caught Stan staring at his mouth. And what was up with _that_ , anyway? Who did he think he was, looking at Craig’s mouth like he wanted to be devoured? Didn’t Stan hate him?

Or, maybe, it was long before that. Maybe it was that day between classes, a few weeks after Tweek had broken up with him, when he was walking around like a total moron in a cloud of sadness for what felt like an eternity. He and Stan were both late to class and bumped shoulders in the hallway and, instead of one, or both, of them shooting the other a snide snarl or disparaging remark, Stan smiled at him. It was a smile full of pity and concern, which would’ve earned Stan a punch to the jaw under any other circumstance, but, instead, for some reason that he to this day could not pinpoint, Craig mustered a smile back. It was weird, and Craig couldn’t explain it, but he felt some dumb, gay shit inside of him - but no, _oh_ no, not the _good_ kind of gay shit. It was like butterflies in his stomach, or something, when Stan looked at him with his ridiculously fucking blue eyes, which were all innocent and wide and shit, and, well, that was that.

Craig liked him.

He liked how Stan’s eyes were a brighter shade of blue than his own, how his shoulders were broad and his chest was muscular and how you could see the contours of his pecs even through those dumb, baggy band shirts he always wore. He liked how he always smelled really good, like some generic supermarket body spray which was fitting because wasn’t Stan kinda generic, himself? He liked how he’d tousle his hair when he was frustrated, how he’d drum his fingers and shake his feet when he was mulling over a problem, and how Stan chewed on, and sometimes licked, and sucked, the end of his pens and pencils.

That was the distracting part, Stan’s mouth on his pens. That, and Stan just _letting_ him get too close, letting him sneak all those bumps of knees and pokes of elbows and brushes of hands. Craig was probably imagining things, like the gay-ass idiot he was, when he thought that Stan would press his leg back against him, or would sweep his toe against Craig’s foot while they were sitting at Stan’s kitchen table doing homework. Totally just his imagination.

Sometimes Craig would imagine how Stan would react if he just leaned over and snatched his writing utensil right out of his mouth and replaced it with _his_ mouth. Would his lips be as soft as they looked, and would his stubble scrape against Craig’s own and leave his chin and lips red and tingly? He’d imagine what would happen if he, finally, placed his hand upon Stan’s thigh, or higher, even. What would happen if he slid his hands up the front of his lame t-shirt and touched him on his fucking gorgeous chest, if he tugged Stan’s shirt over his head and licked and nipped and kissed his shoulders? Would his mouth would look as good on him as it did on those pens?

Would he go for it, as much as Craig wanted to, or would he punch him, or would he push him off and never talk to him again; or, worse, would he be nice about it, and apologize, and say that he isn’t gay, and then just pretend nothing ever happened?

Craig couldn’t allow himself to imagine those things, but he just couldn’t help it.

Craig liked Stan. But, he  _couldn’t_ like Stan, because Stan Marsh hated Craig Tucker, didn’t he?


End file.
